Fields of Grey
by Glorytommy
Summary: One morning, a child shows up on the doorstep of 221b... and everything changes. [Contains Mycroft x OC, Warstan, and eventual Sherolly]
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One. The Child.**

 _Baker St. Come quickly. An anomaly has risen. - SH_

This was what John woke up to late Wednesday morning. No explanation. No context. And knowing Sherlock Holmes, a text like this could mean anything.

 _What do you mean? What's wrong?_

 _Just come - SH_

The problem with this request, unfortunately, was that John had been left in charge of his daughter for the day. Mary wasn't due back until the afternoon.

 _But I've got the baby._

 _NOW - SH_

Cursing to himself, John pulled himself out of bed and rushed to get himself ready. Whatever it was, he assumed it was important if Sherlock was bothering him on one of his 'do not disturb' days. Or at least, it better have been, since he'd have to take Sherry with him.

Struggling to slide on a pair of slacks and cross the room at the same time, the war doctor leaned over to look down at his three month old still fast asleep in her crib. She had woken up in the middle of the night and for hours had refused to go to sleep. Hence why it was almost noon and the two of them had still been in bed. Poor Mary had almost canceled her day out with Molly because of Sherry, but he'd managed to convince her otherwise.

Buttoning his trousers, John smiled at the sleeping baby before moving to fetch her car seat. "Looks like we are going to be taking a day trip," he said softly, an apology in his voice as he set the seat on the bed and found himself a shirt. "Uncle Sherlock needs us, apparently," he added with a roll of his eyes, buttoning the last of the buttons and fixing his collar.

After running his hand through his hair, he carefully picked his daughter up, in the hopes of letting her sleep a bit longer, and carried her over to the changing table. With three months being an adequate amount of time to learn how to change a baby without waking her, it didn't take him very long to put on a fresh diaper and switch out her pajamas from something more appropriate. When that was finished, he transferred her into her car seat and buckled her up.

"I know, I know," John sympathized when the baby made a small sleepy noise of complaint at being moved. He waited a beat, letting her get settled and drift back into a deeper sleep before he lifted the seat by the handle and took her into the living room where he began to collect her diaper bag and got her premade bottles out of the fridge.

A few minutes later they were out the door and in the car in such a rush he nearly forgot to buckle her in (god, don't tell Mary). The traffic to Baker St wasn't too terrible (at least by London standards), and so it wasn't long before John was making the trek up the steps to the flat, car seat in one arm and diaper bag in the other. Not needing to knock due to his spare key, he was surprised to find that the door was already unlocked and nudged it open with his foot.

"Sherlock, I-"

Before he could even get a sentence out, John frowned at the sight of Sherlock staring unblinkingly over steepled fingers at a young redheaded boy sitting across from him in the war doctor's usual seat. Serlock's gaze was intense, as if there was a puzzle right in front of him and he was determined to solve it. He looked ridiculous, though, since he was still dressed in his dressing gown and hadn't bothered to even try to comb his bed head.

The boy, on the other hand, stared back with no signs of being uncomfortable… he looked almost to be studying the detective, trying to figure him out as well. Held tightly in his hands was a backpack.

Neither moved from their little staring match, not seeming to register John's entrance.

"... What's going on?" He asked carefully, walking over to set Sherry down on the coffee table. He didn't receive an answer, and after a few moments of silence, he added a "Sherlock?"

At this, the detective blinked out of his concentration and turned to give his friend a look of confusion. "John? What are you doing here?"

If possible, the man's frown deepened. " _You_ texted me. Asked me to come."

"Did I?" Sherlock questioned and then glanced down at his phone as if he hadn't realized it was clasped between his hands. "Ah yes. So I did." He acknowledged but made no move to explain himself as he pocketed the device.

"So then?" John pressed, becoming a bit impatient.

"Hm?"

He jerked his head toward the boy. "Who is this?"

As the man's eyes fell back on the child, they started to glaze over as he made a face. "Ah..." The look wasn't necessarily disgust, but it was by no means pleasant.

" _Well_?" John continued, definitely impatient now.

"What _is_ your name?" Sherlock asked as if the thought had only just occurred to him.

The boy frowned, blinking as his eyes fell to his shoes. He didn't answer… but it didn't seem to be out of shyness. Whatever it was, it was clear that he wasn't going to say a word.

John found this whole predicament strange. Some random kid just shows up to Baker Street unsupervised and unwilling to explain himself… It just seemed… off. Why was there a child _here_ of all places? Where were his parents?

Wait...

" _Sherlock_ please don't tell me this is-"

"For god sakes John, _no._ He's not my illegitimate son. Does that _look_ like my nose?" He snapped feeling very much offended.

No. It didn't. He was right... but the kid did look as if he could pass for a Holmes.

Well, a ginger Holmes. ...If a Holmes even came in ginger. The curly hair. The long nose. The sharp blue eyes that seemed to take everything in. It couldn't be a coincidence.

The boy turned to finally give him an inquisitive glance and it was brief, but for a moment he saw someone else in him.

"Well, he looks an awful lot like-"

" _Mycroft,_ " Sherlock finished, clearly thinking the same thing as he leaned back in his seat.

"Ah yes, My- wait what?" He cut himself off, realizing that if Sherlock was agreeing with him on an observation that the boy didn't just look _kind of_ like the older Holmes.

With a sigh, the detective reiterated the comment as he waved a hand lazily, "This child holds a striking resemblance to my brother."

There was a beat as the doctor let the information sink in, and then, "...I don't understand."

"What do you not understand?"

John shook his head, needing to take a seat on the couch to process further. "No. I mean, that's not... That can't be possible. Right?"

"It's very possible."

John honestly couldn't wrap his head around this. He couldn't see either brother ever getting intimate enough to sire a child. Especially Mycroft. " _How_?"

Sherlock looked at him indignantly. "...You know how a baby is made, _clearly._ "

John frowned at him, knowing he walked right into that one. "That's not what I meant…" Looking back at the child in question he shifted uncomfortably. "So, does he know?"

"Unlikely, given I didn't know until moments ago," Sherlock said with a strange calmness.

"I... S-Shouldn't you call him?"

Sherlock made another face.

"I mean, if it- If there's a possibility…."

"And say what John?" The detective dismissed, standing up with his usual abrupt flourish. The child looked up at him questioningly. "No… we must be sure first."

At this, it was John's turn to sigh. Something told the good doctor that he wasn't going to like where this was going.

* * *

 **A/N:** So I had this idea brewing before the events of season 4, and as such it's likely it won't be incorporated… or at the very least it will be altered to fit the story's needs. We shall see. For example, you may have noticed that the baby is referred to as "Sherry" that is because before we knew the baby's name I thought it would be cute if despite John having said he wouldn't name the baby after Sherlock they did still pay homage to him by giving her a variation of it. That said, I do love the name she was given canonly and so her full name is Sherry Rosamund Mary Watson.

Anyway! I hope you enjoyed this!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two. The Mother.**

Elena was not afraid of death, but she was afraid of dying.

Not because of the pain. Living through that was always worse than dying from it, and she had lived through more pain than any normal human being ever would. She had long ago built up a tolerance to it until the point where all she could ever feel was numb. Instead, it was the fear of what she'd be leaving behind that shook her.

 _Who_ she'd be leaving behind.

Placing her son in a cab bound for London had been difficult… and as embarrassing as it was, _he_ had been the braver one. Not because she was afraid of him getting lost (he was more than capable enough to find 221b on his own), nor did she believe he would be intercepted (as she had taken great pains to make sure that no one knew of his existence), but the simple fact of the matter was that Elena did not feel whole without her son by her side.

They had been apart before, of course, they had, but she was not sure if she would get the chance to be with him again this time… For, you see, she had been living her life through someone else's game ever since she could remember… and now, after all this time, she was going to end it.

The problem was…

Elena predicted a 97.6% likelihood that she would have to die to make that happen… and if that was to be the case (and she was convinced it would be), then her son needed to be placed somewhere safe.

He needed to be with family. He had always wanted to meet his father, and she had kept them apart long enough.

"I miss the kid already," a familiar voice casually stated behind her.

From her spot sitting on the ledge of an open window, Elena turned her gaze to her companion, watching with little interest as he cleaned one of the pieces from his extensive arsenal. He didn't look back at her, pretending to be disinterested with her frame of mind... but she knew better. He was trying to cheer her up, even if it was only for a moment.

Needing the distraction, she decided to play along and quirked a brow. "We both know you only liked him for his cooking."

He cracked a smile, briefly. "What can I say? The boy can make one hell of an omelet." He finally turned to glance at her, a slightly boyish sparkle in his eye. "Sure didn't learn it from you."

"No," she rolled her eyes and hummed distantly, turning back to the window. "He's self-taught, thankfully."

* * *

John had left Sherry in the care of Mrs. Hudson since he, unfortunately, couldn't take his child to Bart's. Luckily, the older woman was more than happy to spend time with her goddaughter. She had also asked about the presence of a certain little boy, but John had no time to give her a proper answer as Sherlock, after grabbing something from the bookcase, was already out the door. He summed it up as being related to a case of sorts, kissed Sherry on the forehead, and made it out just as a cab was being hailed.

The ride to Bart's was awkward. Sherlock kept intensively staring at the child and said boy, still holding on tightly to his backpack, refused to utter a word.

John chose to stare out the window, not really sure what he could possibly say in this situation… and honestly, he was still processing the fact that there was even a possibility of this kid being Mycroft's.

While he had believed that both Holmes boys would never end up being fathers if he had to choose he would have put his money on Sherlock before the older brother. For there to be someone out in the world to get intimate enough with Mycroft Holmes, of all people, to bear his son… John couldn't imagine what kind of woman she must have been.

Eventually, the trio made it to the hospital and Sherlock made quick work of commandeering one of the labs for his personal use. Unsurprisingly, the demand was met with little to no opposition, as everyone had already learned (after multiple encounters with the detective) that he would eventually end up getting his way regardless of any complaints they may have had.

Once situated, Sherlock went straight to work, quickly yanking a piece of the boy's hair straight from his head without warning. The child, understandably not expecting the action, let out a small yelp in response to the pain, and John shot the man a look followed by a growl filled, " _Sherlock_."

The detective didn't respond, instead sitting down and pulling out what he'd taken from the bookshelf at the flat. The two others in the room stared at it in curiosity. It was a little pouch and, inside it, a lock of hair.

The army doctor frowned at this. "That's Mycroft's isn't it?"

Sherlock glanced innocently in his direction as if what he was holding in his possession was something that should have been naturally had on hand. "Yes, John, I couldn't very well test the boy's DNA without it."

John frowned deeper. "But… you had it… hidden in a bookcase…" How was he not seeing how strange this was?

"For safe keeping," Sherlock said simply and turned back around.

The doctor sighed, not really feeling like explaining why having a lock of your brother's hair 'for safe keeping' was abnormal. "Should I even ask why?"

"I wouldn't," was the only response he got. The detective diving deep into his task.

Following the advice, John decided to finally turn his attention to the boy beside him. There was a pause before he said "Hungry?", not knowing what else they could possibly do while his best friend was busy playing with DNA.

To his surprise and the minor delight of his stomach, the boy nodded. "Alright then shall we? I'm starved," he smiled.

Sherlock didn't bother to acknowledge the two as they left, the gears in his brain turning as he thought about what the presence of this child must have meant.

He wasn't testing the boy's DNA because he needed to. He had taken one look at him and knew instantly that they were related… Not only that but he could see the boy's mother in him too and it wasn't hard to do the math. However, he knew his older brother would have a harder time accepting it. Not because he wouldn't be able to see it, but rather because he wouldn't want to.

Sherlock was semi-aware of the circumstances in which both Elena and Mycroft had parted. His brother was always in constant denial about his capability for sentiment, but the detective had always known better.

Elena had been a whirlwind in both of their lives.

Sherlock remembered the day that he, himself, had first met her. 2004. Winter.

As usual, he had gotten himself into trouble with some very bad people-Gun smugglers. He'd been drugged to make it look like he'd had an overdose… but to their disappointment and his good fortune he had survived. If only barely.

Of course, that had only made his pursuers want to go with a more direct approach, but they hadn't counted on her being there to stop them.

.

.

.

" _Someone's coming to kill you," a woman had hummed to his right as he slowly regained his senses, everything feeling so_ heavy _. He turned his head toward the direction of the voice, and in the blur of his consciousness, he saw her red hair in the dim lighting. She was smiling at him._

" _Don't get up on my account," she told him as he tried, and failed, to move his body. "I'm more than capable of cleaning up this mess for you. You're welcome."_

 _Sherlock tried to speak, but his mouth was too dry. Squinting, he made an attempt to see her more clearly. She leaned forward to make it easier and blue eyes stared into hazel. In an instant, deductions about her came in like a flood, but he could hardly make sense of most of it at the time. His mind was too clouded._

 _The only thing that came clearly was one name. The only name that mattered, because he could smell him on her._

" _Mycroft," he croaked. Her smile widened._

" _Very good," she confirmed, tilting her head to the side. She paused a moment, glancing off into the distance before a frown set in place upon her lips. "You'll have to excuse me. It's showtime, Sherlock."_

 _She stood up and slid into the shadows of the room, in the nook between the wall and the door. Hearing the footsteps only a few moments after she had, the young man closed his eyes, knowing his role without even having to be told._

 _He was the bait, she was the hook._

 _The hitman was clumsy, well, as clumsy as someone with the profession of "hitman" could be allowed to be. He was too confident. He slipped up. Assuming that Sherlock was the only one in the room was his first mistake. Not holding on tight enough to the syringe in his hand was his second._

 _She made quick work of him._

 _Ten seconds was all it took for the man to hit the ground, a highly concentrated shot of potassium chloride stopping his heart within moments._

 _Her smile from before came back again, but wider. "That's a bit disappointing… I was hoping for more of a fight."_

 _._

 _._

 _._

It wasn't until later that he'd found out just to what extent she and his brother valued each other. Elena had never worked _for_ Mycroft as he had originally thought. She had merely been doing him a favor. And he was more than aware that when his safety was concerned Mycroft did not just leave it to anyone. Especially someone who did not take direct orders from him.

She had been an exception, and Mycroft didn't make exceptions for just anyone.

Sherlock's musings were interrupted by the positive match that flashed upon the screen of the computer beside him. Exhaling, he printed his findings, gathered his things, and left the lab in the direction of the cafeteria.

* * *

Meanwhile, John was putting himself through the slightly difficult task of trying to figure out what a child who refused to speak wanted to eat. After a few minutes, the two managed to get through the cafeteria line with a series of nods and pointing. After convincing the reluctant child that cauliflower would be good for him, the two of them sat down at one of the empty tables and began eating in silence.

John watched the boy between bites and was only half surprised to find him taking everything in. Even as he ate, he seemed to be constantly observing everything and everyone. Looking at him, the doctor felt himself starting to come around to the idea that the child could indeed possibly be a Holmes. The way the child's eyes examined everything looked a bit like that deduction thing both Mycroft and Sherlock had.

It was surprising, though, that the boy did not speak. Both of the Holmes brothers seemed to like showing off just how clever they were, but so far this child hadn't uttered even a peep. Of course, John had an idea of what it was. Selective mutism.

He wasn't a psychologist but if he had to guess that was why the boy wasn't speaking. It was more typical in children than people thought and all the evidence pointed to it. _...Yes_ , even John Watson was capable of making a deduction or two every now and then.

The child obviously wasn't physically mute because he was capable of making sounds (based off his earlier yelp). He very clearly wasn't death either, since he understood everything that was said. And lastly, he wasn't necessarily just shy either… since most shy children could at least speak lowly and truly he didn't carry himself as a shy person. He didn't back down from eye contact easily.

No. The boy's personality wasn't about shyness… Likely, it was about trust.

John wasn't sure how much the child knew about his situation, but either way, it still had to be jarring. He was putting on a brave face and doing as he was told, but Holmes boy or not… he was still a child away from his mother.

"I never… introduced myself properly, did I?" the war doctor questioned, turning to the boy with a small smile and sticking out his right hand. "John Watson."

The child looked from Watson's hand to his face and then back again before he tentatively grasped it.

The man chuckled. "Ah, that won't do. Someone's going to have to teach you a proper handshake," he said, giving the boy's hand a small but firm squeeze. "Come on, stiffen up that wrist. Show me what you got."

The boy did as he was told.

"That a boy," John grinned, earning him the smallest of smiles.

Now feeling he was getting somewhere, he pressed on. "What should I call you?" he questioned a bit dramatically, his hand going to scratch his chin. "You _must_ have a name? Shall I guess it?"

The boy raised a brow at him, unsure if he should be confused or a missed by his odd behavior.

"Andy?" John continued, pretending to look him over. "No? Bernard?" The boy shook his head, making a face. "Nah, didn't think so. How about... Henry?" Again the child shook his head.

The doctor hummed, "It can't be _Rupert_ , can it? Because that would be a rubbish name," the boy scrunched his nose and they both laughed at this. John shook his head. "I didn't think so."

A moment passed as the doctor tried to think up some more names. Before he could, however, a small "Roylen" fell from the boy's mouth so quietly that John almost didn't catch it at first.

" _Roylen_ , is it? That fits you much better than Rupert," he joked, earning him another smile.

It was at that moment that Sherlock decided to show himself, making the two jump as he rested a hand on both their shoulders and completely ruined the mood.

"Ah, good, you've finally gotten him to talk… I knew you could do it," he said confidently.

John rolled his eyes at this, finding it typical that the detective would purposely leave the socializing for him to do (or at the very least claim to have done so).

Moving on, he asked, "Well? The verdict?"

Sherlock looked from John to Roylen and smiled tightly, "As expected, you're my nephew, congratulations."

"What? Really?" John questioned, snatching the papers out of Sherlock's hand for a look see. The results confirmed it, but it was still hard to wrap his brain around.

The older Holmes sighed, "Honestly John, it isn't that crazy… they are married, after all."

This threw John in for another loop, and he shook his head for a moment. " _I'm_ sorry, excuse me? Married?"

"Separated, clearly, but yes," Sherlock confirmed as he took the papers back and stuffed them in the inner pocket of his jacket. He paused a moment to correct himself. "Well, they aren't married _on paper_ , but…"

The doctor shook his head again, overloaded on this new information. "I don't understand…"

"He never does," Sherlock whispered to Roylen and then, not wanting to waste any more time, motioned for the two to follow him. "Regardless. Come along, my big brother is about to get the biggest news of his life. Should prove interesting."


End file.
